There are two riveting speeches in Bull in a China Shop. They come late in the 90-minute production — the first is capriciously funny; the second brought me to tears.
The evening kicks off in low light shrouding a bed where two young bodies are thrusting enthusiastically, and the room rings with her practiced, orgasmic moans.
Foster is so good at everything, one might miss her deft comedic gifts. Her clowning rivals that of Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett, and Allison Janney. There is a sequence where she hangs over a clothing-rack, eating a sandwich, that blows a sexy seduction scene off the stage.
You may not warm to the characters, but the actors are true north on delivering them. Julia Duffy does more with a glance and a pause that many performers manage with a soliloquy.
I had the good fortune to see the brash and fresh, funny and poignant revival of Falsettos just days after our devastating election. The 2 hours, 40 minutes’ running time proved to be the first weep-free/rage-free respite since Tuesday night.
Among Oliver’s many gifts (remember he is writing and performing these tales) is his ability to lead us into a Dublin alley to pee, to set us up for hilarity, and then suddenly bring us to poignant tears.
John Slattery’s cast as Hildy Johnson, a hard-bitten, underhanded, take-no-prisoners hack. His moments with Nathan Lane are small diamonds in a rhinestone wash of a show.
Where Lord Snelgrave’s prurient interests are prosaic, the reanimation of Lady Snelgrave’s sensuality is bracing. I don’t remember ever having seen a lovely woman of a certain age groped with purpose on a New York stage. It was fascinating.
Simon Stephens’ remarkable Heisenberg generates all the potency and disarming immediacy on Broadway that it conjured off Broadway.
The production’s traveled flawlessly in the hands of director Mark Brokaw. What’s more Mary-Louise Parker and Denis Arndt have managed the actors’ magic of bringing Georgie and Alex to fresh life, seven shows a week, on the same pillow and chairs, a few blocks south.
This version of one of the Bard’s signature cross-dressing, love-will-out, and nobody-really-dies-in-a-shipwreck comedies, is more fun than a barrel of monkeys — and a barrel of monkeys is pretty much the only gimmick the company did not employ.
As the production resolved, and the sheer weight of all the destruction — not just the rape and brutality but the lifelong humiliation and guilt girls and women who are abused carry —settled on me and brought me to tears.
This comedy is really fun. The first act is a cascade of surprising arrivals, telling anecdotes, bitchy exchanges. It is fast paced and genuine. Unlike so much new theater, Out of the Mouths of Babes avoids second act problems; the second act is every bit as much fun as the first.
It’s a very big play on a very short run in a very small house. If you can get a ticket, I can promise you two hours of fresh, original theater in Di and Viv and Rose.
An Act of God is only sort of a play; it’s more stand-up comedy leashed to a talk show couch. That God is a short Jewish gay man with vast perspective comes as a surprise, not an unwelcome surprise, but an amusing turn of events. Seeing God gifted with Hayes’ comedic timing is kinda neat.